


Ruins - Prompts, etc.

by luzial



Series: Ruins [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate POVs, Book: Dragon Age - The Masked Empire, F/M, Ruins, prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:50:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7172483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of prompts, one-shots, alternate povs, etc. from Ruins. Generally posted to Tumblr first, or crossposted there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 8 - Solas POV

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Ruins](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5099036) by [luzial](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luzial/pseuds/luzial). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Solas' POV of Chapter 8 of Ruins.

Honesty was proving to be just as painful as he’d feared.

Solas had watched her carefully these last few days as he doled out portion after portion of his stained history. She swallowed each new revelation like someone slowly acclimating herself to drinking poison, building up an immunity for the eventual killing dose that she knew would eventually come. He saw the acceptance of its inevitability in her face.

And he was the one poisoning her.

Then, her calm _oh_ when he’d told her of Felassan’s death. The way she’d looked at him not with disdain or anger or even judgment - but with the simple acknowledgment that she’d always known he must be capable of something like that.

What might he have said to defend himself? What defense could he even have deserved? He had taken the life of one of his closest friends, the only man left alive who understood what he had seen and suffered. And he’d done it with barely any thought.

What good was it knowing he had spared Felassan this time? What if the honest choice had been the one he had made before everything changed?

How could he know which man he truly was when he had lived as both?

Solas watched her pass through the eluvian, the mirror’s magic rippling along her skin. He supposed he couldn’t much blame her for not entrusting the passphrase to him. He’d likely have done the same in her place.

He cast a glance back from whence they’d come, at the realm that was now the closest thing in this broken world to the world that he remembered. And then he followed her.

 

* * *

 

Something was wrong. He knew it as soon as he saw the warning in her eyes, but by then it was too late. In a flash of magic and stone and - suddenly - hair, he felt himself come to an abrupt stop.

And then, for one brief moment, all he knew was her. Her hair swam past his eyes and the scent of it flooded his mind with uninvited memories. His lips were at her neck, his arms upon hers, his chest pressed to her back. He hadn’t been this close to her since -

“Ir abelas!” he offered hastily, forcing such thoughts from his head. “I will go back through-”

But even as he said so, Solas felt the eluvian close behind him.

There was nowhere else but here, nothing to breathe but her hair, nothing to feel but the strength of her shoulders beneath his palms, nothing to think but how desperately close they were while still so very, very far apart. He was filled with nothing but her and she wanted nothing from him. What other punishment could be so fitting?

He cursed angrily at himself, a frustrated exhale of long-forgotten words from his own language. He lamented the usual things - the day of his birth, his weakness, that he had dragged her with him down this forsaken path - and added one final curse for Felassan, whose stubborn insistence that they aid with whatever plans he had for Orlais meant that Solas was deterred from the seeking the one thing that mattered most in this world.

Yet already he could see that she was pushing onward, focused on the wall he had pressed her against. She was the very model of duty, never wavering from her goal. Within moments she had freed them from the tiny passage, and he moved with her into the pantry beyond. His movements were small and deliberate as he maneuvered to ensure that she had sufficient space. He placed his palms against his legs so his hands didn’t graze hers as he moved past her.

He watched with awe as she summoned magic he didn’t know she had - yet, _of course_ she had it. She had always been brilliant. Spells that should have taken centuries of study to learn she had mastered in a scant few years. The necessities that drove an ephemeral lifespan still amazed him.

 _She_ still amazed him.

And in the dim glow provided by the wisp she had coaxed from the Fade, Solas saw her reach out to him. She had taken his hands before - a kind and comforting gesture that only reminded him of the great debt he owed her that he could never repay. But here, in the darkness, he froze as she brought his fingertips to her face. He felt his pulse quicken, and he fought to keep his expression flat and his hands steady.

“Take them away,” she whispered. And so he did, despite his reservations, because she asked him to.

He should have told her everything then, that night in Crestwood, Solas thought for the thousandth or ten-thousandth time. The truth had swelled inside him then, a churning river that threatened to flood the banks of his better judgment. So rather than tell her the truth of who he was and what he planned to do, he’d found himself confessing his devotion to her, praising her beauty and her rare soul. A particularly cruel beginning to a conversation that he knew must end with her broken heart, he remembered bitterly.

And now, when he had already revealed so much, he found himself biting back the words again. It was not the truth of his past that he held back, but the truth of his heart.  

He loved her still. When he had first felt it, years ago, Solas was furious with the inconvenience of it all. Now, he could no longer muster the energy. He had more than enough reasons to hate himself. What good was there in being angry with his heart?

But this was the one truth he couldn’t tell her. They had distracted each other once before - though the distraction persisted much longer than either had admitted. Their journeys lay upon two paths that could not cross, though neither had accepted this. And thus, a broken world had persisted long past its death throes simply because he had failed to act. He would not distract her again.

In Crestwood, Solas had told her the truth of his devotion to hold back the truth of who he was; and now he told her the truth of who he was to hold back the truth of his devotion. He might have wondered more about the perfect symmetry of it all had his focus not been required elsewhere.  

So he explained more of the vallaslin, of his scar, of the differences between the magic he knew and the magic she had used - anything to keep his foolish heart from telling her everything.

For a moment, he thought it might work.

But when Solas saw her step toward him in the dark, and when he felt her soft hands upon his cheeks, he knew it was all a waste. When she pressed her lips to his, it was like a precious dream. When she pulled him closer and he wrapped his arms around her waist, he decided that if he would not speak his love aloud then he must show her as best he could. And so he kissed her deeply as he drew her against his chest. He pressed his hips to hers and she stumbled backward into the shelves behind her, a soft cry escaping her lips.

How had he forgotten what it meant to feel at home? The years of control and discretion all seemed so pointless now, when he held her in his arms. She had changed everything and there was no use in denying it - all that remained was to tell her.

“ _Vhenan_ ,” he began.

Blinding light flooded the pantry as the door flew open. In her shock, the woman who discovered them never suspected the glamor that disguised them, nor did she imagine they might be anything other than servants. And suddenly he understood.

It had been a distraction, after all.


	2. Felassan Questions Solas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from wren-bluebell:  
> Its really clear in chapter 6, that Solas spoke to Felassan (before meeting with Lavellan again) .. about her.. whatever it was that was said, makes Solas blush. Is there anyway you could provide us with a solas pov, of that scene, where we get to see Solas tell Felassan about Lavellan... OR .. any snippets as to what he may have said? xD <3333

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felassan POV. This scene takes place somewhere between chapters 5 and 6, but has spoilers for chapter 13 as well.

“Who was she?”

“A friend,” Solas answered.

It was a less than forthcoming response, as many of his responses had been less than forthcoming. Wholly uncharacteristic, Felassan thought, for a man who enjoyed hearing himself talk as much as his Fen’Harel did.

“Tell me about her,” Felassan offered, imbuing his tone with the minimum amount of interest he could manage. He had not forgotten the lengthy treatises Solas enjoyed giving on the merits of his so-called ‘friends.’ Still, he was curious about the shadow he had seen in the light of the campfire, though he’d been too preoccupied in his excitement at still being alive to pay much attention to her at the time.

“She is rare and … _marvelous_ ,” Solas began slowly. “She can be harsh and kind in equal measure, though she shows restraint in both. She is brilliant - thoughtful. Intriguing and honest. Confident and formidable. Fiercely loyal to those she calls friends and-” Solas hesitated. “Very good at getting what she wants.”

As reluctant as he had been initially, Solas needed little more encouragement once he’d started, Felassan thought. And he wasn’t done.

“She is a force of nature - not the storm itself, but the stillness before it. Like the smell of rain in the air before you ever see the lightning on the horizon - where she walks, change follows behind her. No stone is the same once she has passed over it.”

Felassan stifled a yawn. “So what is she - Passion? Purpose? Rebellion, perhaps?”

Solas stared back at him, head crooked slightly to one side and his brow furrowed. “What?”

“I said, what sort of spirit is she?”

“She is not a spirit,” Solas said flatly.

“Then - what?” Felassan asked. “A memory from the place we were - a spirit that’s gotten itself turned around?”

“No,” Solas shook his head. “She’s not a spirit or a memory. She is not born of the Fade.”

Felassan suddenly felt as confused as Solas looked. “What?”

“She is an elf - Dalish,” Solas explained. “A woman of flesh and blood.”

Felassan felt the grin break across his face like a child who’d just been handed a basketful of sweets. Solas noticed immediately, his eyes widening in concern as he clasped his hands behind his back quickly - that old trick he’d always used to make himself appear more in composed than he really was.

But Felassan knew this trick. He also knew that, for all the stories of Fen’Harel’s legendary talents as a liar, Solas had always worn his emotions plainly on his face. Of course he had been an astute politician in his day, Felassan thought. But Solas wouldn’t last ten minutes against someone trained as Briala had been in the Orlesians’ so-called Game. His expressions gave him away far too easily.

Once he’d let Solas’ words hang in the air uncomfortably for a moment and sorted through the dozens of questions he wanted to ask, Felassan finally spoke.

“A Dalish?” he asked, voice lilting up in disbelief.

“Yes,” Solas said.

“Do you have _any_ idea what they say about you?”

“I am well aware,” Solas grumbled.

“If she is as formidable as you say, she will destroy you when she realizes what you are - which she surely will do if she is also as brilliant as you say,” Felassan pushed him.

Solas clearly paled at this, an unmistakable shadow of fear passing behind his eyes. But he straightened his back again, swallowed, and replied, “She knows.”

“Knows what?” Felassan asked.

“She knows who I am. She knows what I did. And she knows that I am not of this time.”

Felassan raised an eyebrow. “And yet she still seeks you out? That seems extremely unlikely.”

“I agree,” Solas said.

 _Fine_ , Felassan thought. If Solas was going to be difficult, he would simply have to change tactics.

“You said she is a woman?” he said.

“Yes,” Solas answered hesitantly.

“Of _flesh_ and blood?” Felassan smiled.

“Yes.” Solas was looking increasingly uncomfortable.

“Is she pretty?”

“Is that _relevant_?” Solas snapped.

“Not at all!” Felassan replied joyfully.

“Then I won’t answer it!”  Solas’ petulant tone was an absolute gift.

“Wait a moment,” Felassan said, stroking a finger over his chin as if he were considering Solas’ words carefully. “You say that she’s good at getting what she wants. What exactly did she get from you?” he asked with a wide grin.

“I’ve answered enough of your questions, Felassan,” Solas replied coolly. Apparently, he had been pushed far enough. Felassan opted for a tactical retreat.

“Of course, my friend,” he said as he patted Solas’ shoulder. “You must forgive my enthusiasm. I am only happy to see you find companionship.”

That, at least, was true. Though, Felassan wasn’t certain whether he felt more sympathy for Solas, who was so desperate to find love that he had invented one for himself, or for the confused spirit who’d become lost in the Dread Wolf’s delusions.

 

* * *

 

But she wasn’t a spirit.

Felassan hadn’t believed it until he saw her with his own eyes. But there she stood before him, cloaked in the darkness before the dawn. Her face was bare and her clothes were plain, but she was unmistakably real. Still, he thought, the likelihood that she felt for Solas what he felt for her - well.

But then he saw Solas take her hand, and the tenderness that passed between them. He had known that Solas loved her. That had been all too apparent from the start. But to hear the worry in her voice when she realized they were to be separated, and the way she looked into his eyes when they parted ...

Suddenly, Felassan had a thousand questions.


	3. Chapter 2 - Solas POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas' POV of Chapter 2 of Ruins.

_Nothing_ made sense to Solas.

He was surrounded by it and he knew it like an old companion. It was absence, with which he had more than a passing familiarity, but bigger and more. No light, no sound, no life. Nothing but nothing.

 _Banal nadas_.

This was to be the end of him, he realized. Finally, after years so numerous he’d long ago lost track and after grief so constant he had all but forgotten what it was like to be without it. He was ready for this. For nothing. He had been ready for a long time. He had longed for it with as much certainty as he longed for her.

And he had always known she would be his death, though he had hoped to spare her that. One last way he could have lightened the weight she had been forced to carry, had he not failed her once again. She was too good for him in all things - even this. Especially this. Now, he would only wound her further. She would carry the burden of this death, not knowing he had already resigned himself to this fate.

_Ar lasa mala revas._

He had wanted her free. Free of him.

And yet.

He was not being honest with himself again. It had always been easier that way. _Feel nothing_ , Solas had once told himself. Feel only the grief. Distill the rest. Condense it all into one sustained, longing ache for all the things that should have been but could not be. Could never be.

But he had never wanted to be free of her. He wished he could give her all of himself, whatever pittance that was. Though he could never be what she deserved, at least he would have been able to die with the knowledge that he had done for her all he could.

Was this death, then, he wondered. Was this all that was left for him? Would he be here, now, for all eternity, lost in this darkness with nothing but his regrets to accompany him?

A fitting punishment, he knew. To never say goodbye. To never say the words he had longed to say. To never tell her the truth.

To die alone.

As if in answer, he felt a stirring against his chest. A breath of a memory? A ghost of a touch? A whisper in the nothingness?

But no. This was something.

Was he dreaming? Could he dream here? He felt - he _felt?_ \- his arms outstretched in front of him, hands clasped tightly as if he was afraid to let it go.

And then, a voice. Echoing in his thoughts.

 _If I let go, we’ll both fall_.

Her voice.

It snapped him to attention like lightning. Gone were his sleepy wallowings and self-indulgences. Her electricity surged to the tips of his fingers and the bottoms of his feet, and he found _himself_ once more - no longer awash in the nothing but grounded in something certain. He remembered it all in an instant. The temple, the trap. And her arms around him.

“What, may I ask, was the intent of the spell?” he thought.

“Do you remember Redcliffe?” he felt her reply.

The dizzying swell of her memories crashed over him, a sea of color, shape, and feeling that churned through his mind before slowly coming to rest on a single image. Solas saw his own face staring back at him through the bars of a prison cell, his eyes stained red with blight and bleeding its tainted magic.

He was horrific, all but unrecognizable. In _her_ mind.

But in his own thoughts, he saw only the monstrosity he carried inside him made manifest. The internal had become external. His ugliness revealed.

In a second, the hatred he felt for himself was drowned entirely, dragged away by the wave of emotions he could feel from her memories. He felt no revulsion, nor even pity, when he looked through her eyes upon this dying version of himself. In its place, he felt only a warmth that confused him, tinged with a righteous anger that he understood all too well. _This will be corrected_ , it seemed to say. _Or this will be avenged. I cannot and I will not see him die without knowing -_

Without knowing … what? He could not understand.

It was the warmth that answered.

It was an odd and overwhelming thing, Solas realized, to look at one’s self and feel _love_. Unreserved and absolute love. The sort of love that could remap the constellations and recklessly chase its focus to the Void and back.

The sort of love he felt for her.

He saw, then, the memory _behind_ this one. It was not forefront in her mind; it floated just below the surface, hidden away like a canvas that had been painted twice. He hesitated to focus his attention on it too closely, worried he was trespassing. But the image came anyway, unbidden and inescapable.

Solas watched himself bar the door, and then he saw it forced open again.

The rest happened so quickly. The terror demon towered above her memory of him like a grotesque caricature of a tree. Its slender fingertips appeared delicate - brittle, even - but he knew they were pliant and strong like new branches. He watched as the demon gripped the throat of his lyrium-tainted twin, dragging him up from the ground until his feet dangled in the air. And with a _crack_ that rent the air and turned his stomach, he saw the demon twist his neck and toss him down to the tiled floor like he was nothing - nothing at all.

Solas saw himself fall. He watched himself die.

He expected to be furious. _This_ was the end of Fen’Harel? _This_ was all that it took to fell the last protector of the People? _This_ was the ignominious death he chose for himself, after surviving for thousands of years with no hope and no friends to comfort him?

But he felt no fury.

She’d never told him any of this. When she and Dorian returned from the future that never was, they’d explained much of what they’d seen. But she had seen him die and she’d never told him, choosing instead to spare him whatever pain she imagined it might cause. But the only pain Solas felt now was hers, tempered with that same certainty she’d felt before. _This cannot stand_. _This is not the end_ , she’d thought.

For himself, Solas felt only pride. It was bizarre and alien, but it was undeniable. He held the image of his dying self in his mind, watched as the life seeped out of it, the slowing of the bleeding tendrils of lyrium from its eyes now heralding the end.

It had done for her all that it could.

 _You did what I should have_ , he thought. _You gave your life freely while I selfishly kept mine. You knew what she meant and that, without her, everything sacrificed, everything suffered, was for nothing at all._

 _And more than that_ , Solas thought, the vision shifting from the future he had never seen to the past that he had. _So much more than that_ , he remembered now, seeing the empty dais upon which she’d stood only moments before and feeling the crushing loss of _her_. For it was not merely the mark upon her hand that mattered. _She_ mattered.

And he felt it hit him as if it was the first time. He understood how utterly lost he was, how desperately he wanted to abandon it all, and how dearly he wanted her to define him - to fill up all of his nothings with something.

Solas watched himself fall in love.

“Yes, I remember Redcliffe,” he finally replied.

 

* * *

 

Solas’ last thought before he felt her ripped from his arms was that nothing was inevitable. It was the one absolute.

He would find her. He would help her. She deserved a life, and happiness.

No matter what the cost.


End file.
